My will has no boundaries

Understanding that I needed to grow stronger and fast I set out to test the limits of my abilities. I found a secluded place, far from prying eyes, and stepped waist-deep into the river. Its current was fierce raging torrents crashed against me, trying to sweep me off my feet. But I stood firm.

Everything in this world has an essence. Every living creature, every element of nature possesses its own spirit its own will. The element of water was no exception. I focused, striving to feel it more deeply, to grasp its true nature.

My eyes lost focus. The torrents that had moments ago roared with untamed fury suddenly slowed. For one brief, almost illusory moment, the river yielded to my will. I had made it stop.

But I could not hold it. The strain was beyond my current strength. The current surged back to life, regaining its fury and speed.

My breath grew heavy; the pressure was overwhelming. I had not tried to halt just a stream that I could have done. I had sought to calm the entire river, a mighty force that stretched for miles.

I thought of Diogenes. He was eccentric some would say mad but his insights and musings had often helped me find clarity.

He would have said: "One must first understand their own essence."

Climbing back onto the shore, I dressed once more in my gear. Raising my compass, I opened a path between worlds.

My feet touched the earth where I had spent ten years. The cries of Spartan youths rang through the morning air. Across the camp, the silhouettes of boys darted to and fro the younger ones training their bodies, while the older began their martial drills. It all came flooding back, as if I had never left. As if it were only yesterday.

Fragments of memory resurfaced, one after another. My first arrival at the camp. Meeting Damippus. The struggles we endured together battling hunger, enduring punishing drills, surviving endless trials.

I even remembered the first meal we scavenged, and the secret tunnel we dug beneath the mess hall a strange kind of joy. Those moments were part of me. But I was no longer the Spartan boy once known as Damocles.

Casting one final look at the camp, I opened the path once more and returned to the river.

Wading into the same spot, I slowly placed my palm upon the water. Closing my eyes, I traced the current all the way to its source. From the depths of the earth, pushing through stone, a tiny spring was born. With time, it grew gathering strength, becoming a mighty river that spilled into the Aegean Sea.

Water such a simple substance. And yet within it lies everything. It sustains life, quenches thirst. The plants that bloom and bear fruit do so because of its power. And then we consume those fruits. The cycle of the world turns around water.

My will flowed with the current, reaching from the river's mouth to its very source. For a moment, it felt as though even time itself had halted. The water froze, its sound gone like the world had been paused. And then… the current reversed. Only for a heartbeat, but to me, it lasted an eternity.

Then, the world resumed its flow.

"My will knows no bounds," I spoke aloud, the air trembling with the weight of my voice.

At a mere thought, the water cleared, becoming crystal-pure. As though touched by a divine hand, it turned pristine I could see the riverbed in perfect detail. Then its color shifted to emerald, gleaming in the sun, before returning to its natural hue.

Sometimes, a single spark is enough to change the world.

After visiting the training camp, I felt compelled to see Sparta itself. Nostalgia stirred in me. I wanted to witness how much had changed over the years.

I took out my compass, and in the blink of an eye, I stood on the streets of the city.

A cloak of will enveloped me, turning gazes away, making people forget me as soon as they saw me. Perfect concealment. Just another Spartan walking by.

It had been so long since I walked these streets. Everything remained the same: the harsh discipline, the warrior patrols, the same austere stone architecture. And yet, something in the air was different. Something heavy. Oppressive.

As I passed the homes, I arrived at the central square. At its center, on perfectly aligned stone slabs, stood rows of wooden posts.

To them, bodies were bound.

Many bodies.

They had been mutilated, reduced to bloody pulp by countless blows. It was an execution slow, torturous, shameful. A hellish end for the condemned. There was no honor in such a death, no forgiveness. It was humiliation physical and spiritual for any Spartan.

"What were they punished for?" I asked an old woman wrapped in a faded cloak as she passed by.

She stopped, looked at me suspiciously, eyes narrowing.

"You don't know?"

"I served in the fleet. Returned only today," I replied calmly.

She scoffed and, turning away, muttered over her shoulder:

"Everyone knows. They rose against the will of the king and paid the price."

Something about her words felt wrong. I knew Archidamus noble and just, steadfast in his ideals. His honor was unbreakable, like a seasoned warrior's spear. He would never butcher his own brethren in cold blood.

What kind of decree could force Spartans to rebel?

I looked upon my homeland once more but now with different eyes. The air was thick with the scent of blood, fear, and something darker… almost malevolent. Sparta had changed.

I retrieved the compass. There was one man I needed to find. The last surviving brother of my generation.

The compass pointed the way, and I made my way toward the house of Kratos' family homes granted by the polis in honor of military distinction. I didn't approach directly. Cloaked in shadow, I observed from a distance.

Everything appeared calm. Only Kratos' wife and daughter were inside. But there was something off about the woman. A faint mist shimmered around her, as if some illusion sought to veil her true form. Who was she? Who had taken her shape? Or had she always been that way?

I tried to recall details from history, but my memories crumbled like dust in my mind. The truth now eluded me. But there are those who know all the Sisters of Fate.

"Why are you here, Spartan?" A voice behind me. Familiar.

I froze.

"Polemarch," I said, bowing my head in respect, careful not to break my cover.

"Two nights' guard duty for loitering," Kratos commanded, his voice hard with authority.

"Yes, sir," I answered curtly.

He walked past without recognizing me. I watched him go and saw the Blades of Chaos resting on his back. Fate had been cruel to him… yet within him, a spark remained. A flicker of hope. I caught the faintest shadow of a smile as his eyes passed over the faces of his wife and daughter.

But this was no longer the Kratos I once knew. He had drowned in blood and battle rage. I could feel the weight of countless lives clinging to him guilty and innocent alike. He had changed. And not by his own will.

He was a pawn in another's game.

Ares.

Only he could twist Sparta like this only he could still cast a shadow over Kratos. I must kill him.

His blood-soaked ambition now spreads across all of Greece. I looked at Kratos one final time and walked away.